


The Scenic Route

by lureavi



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, After Matt Embarrasses Himself Enough, Alternate Universe - College/University, But it's pretty Matt and Shiro-centric, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Most of the team will show up at some point, eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-08 16:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15247014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lureavi/pseuds/lureavi
Summary: In which almost every time Matt finds himself in the presence of Shiro, he finds a way to make a complete fool of himself. Sometimes, it causes a scene.Voltron College AU, a 5+1 thing where Matt horribly embarrasses himself in front of Shiro 5 times, and then the time the tables turn.Rated M for one questionable chapter that's likely only T, but best to be safe.





	1. The Spicy Meatball

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a one-shot from an old tumblr imagine your OTP prompt, and just spiraled from there. It's all from Matt's perspective, and the first chapter is pretty short. Poor Matt doesn't cause a scene until chapter two.

7 in the morning. Seven o fucking clock in the morning. No one should be awake at such a time. No one should subject themselves to the complete and utter torture that is the ass-crack of dawn. The sun should not rise before 9, the world should not exist before then.

Yet here I am. 15 minutes to 7, walking into a dank lecture hall in the basement of a building as far from my dorm as possible, (barely) ready to learn some differential equations as if the constitution never banned such a cruel and unusual punishment as this.

I throw my backpack onto the desk closest to the door, and plop down in the rickety chair. I slam a thermos of coffee down, and in the corner of my eye i notice the poor soul sitting next to me who jumps about 15 feet in the air at the racket I'm making. I don’t have it in me to apologize, not yet. I rummage through my bag to find a monster energy drink, one of the cans about the size of my forearm. I can feel the guy sitting next to me stare as I unscrew the cap on my thermos, and pour the whole can into my coffee.

As soon as the last drop plips in, I toss the can to the trash a few feet behind me, pick up the thermos, and faintly hear myself say “I’m going to die,” before tilting my head back and starting to chug this vile concoction.

Some sort of strangled noise, probably of shock, comes from next to me. I can’t find it in me to care. Yet. Not yet. Not until every last goddamn drop of that sweet caffeine has passed down my gullet.

A 7 am lecture. Last year, I managed to get all my classes at 10 or later. This year I wasn’t as fortunate. Is the guy next to me as miserable as I am? Oh god, my stomach already aches as I drop the emptied thermos back to my desk. I just drank that whole thing in one go. Maybe I am going to die, but I bet that looked damn impressive.

A shy voice comes from next to me, “Are you okay…?” he asks.

No, no I’m not. I turn to him to say so, and the words stick in my throat. Oh, no. I’m staring at him. I’m definitely just staring, and its awful,  but nothing makes its way through the intense combination of morning haze and gay panic.

I am not okay.

Matt.exe has stopped working

Windows could not find this item: Brain_To_Mouth_Filter

System.out.print(myEveryThought);

Oh no. He’s hot. Mama Mia, that is one spicy meatball.

And of course. I can hear the words leave my mouth. The thoughts jumble together, and I look right at this man, this gorgeous man. His short black hair, cute fluffy bangs, jawline of a god, broad shoulders straining against his cute plaid button-up, perfectly stormy gray eyes, and winged eyeliner so sharp it could pierce me through.

I look at this enchanting creature and I say, “Oh no, you’re a  _ spicy _ meatball.”

This is it. My life is over. Bury me in silks spun of shame, lay me down on a bed of roses as red as my face, sink me into the river of my own nervous sweat.

The beautiful man stares at me, his mouth agape, and makes another quiet noise of disbelief that dissolves into laughter. My burning face has to be the only thing on Earth hotter than this boy. And I just called him a spicy meatball. He’s still laughing, leaning over his desk from the force of it. Honestly? Seeing his eyes clenched shut, the corners crinkled while he smiles so wide it has to hurt is worth at least some of the shame I’m swimming in.

My eyes dart to one of the clocks hung on the walls, and there’s still too many minutes before class starts. The lecture hall is half empty, and the students who are here are far too groggy to care about my embarrassing slip, or the cute guy roaring in laughter next to me. I bury my face in my hands, why did I get here early?

After what felt like hours, mister spicy meatball next to me starts winding down. I peak out between my fingers to see his flushed face and lightly heaving chest as he catches his breath, wiping a few tears from his eyes. Oh god. I am a fool. I have to drop this class. I might have to transfer schools. A million thoughts run through my mind and it all goes blank when he looks at me and opens his mouth.

“I can’t believe you,” he says, obviously fighting back a giggling fit, “I have to be dreaming. There’s no way some guy just sat down next to me, out of the dozens of empty seats in here, chugged down an entire energy drink in a cup of coffee, and called me a spicy meatball.” He snorts, and it’s so undignified and ungraceful and  _ adorable _ , and I think I might start bleeding from my face with all the blood that’s rushed up to it.

“You’re not dreaming,” I mumble, fighting the urge to pull the hood of my sweater up, tug the drawstrings closed, and block out the world, “but boy do I wish I was.”

He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair, though his silky, soft looking hair, “my name is Takashi Shirogane. Please call me Shiro, and please tell me your name, because I will never forget you.”

Do I give him my real name? Do I give him an alias? No, I’ve made enough of a fool of myself without coming up with a fake name on the spot. I find it in me to look him in the eyes again, now sure that my face will never again be free of this crimson curse, “I’m Matt. Matt Holt. And please, I will do absolutely anything for you if you promise not to tell anyone what I just said,” I plead, “I have never had to function this early before and I think I really might die.” Whether it be from caffeine overdose, or embarrassment, I don’t know yet.

He raises an eyebrow, still beaming way too happily for this unholy time of day, “Anything?” I can feel the bead of sweat roll down my face before he continues, “that’s a bold offer to make someone you barely know.”

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Shiro,” somehow my face gets warmer when I say his name, “I don’t think I have anything to lose at this point.”

He lets out another, almost breathless laugh, “alright, first thing? Sit next to me again next class,” he pauses and his eyes drift away, his lips quirking as he thinks of what to say next. A man clears his throat loudly at the front of the room, and Shiro visibly jolts. “I’ll get back to you with the rest,” he whispers, giving me another award-winning smile before he looks to the front, where the professor is now ready to start.

I’ve never been so thankful for a lecture. I almost forget about my botched first impression. I get lost in taking notes because of  _ course _ this is the kind of class that jumps right into shit on the first day, until a bright purple stick it note is gently tacked to the page of my notebook I’m writing in. I glance over at Shiro, and our eyes meet for a brief second. He gives me a lopsided smirk before turning his attention back to the board up front.

_ Let’s meet at the dining hall or something later. _

_ -Shiro _

His handwriting is absolutely atrocious, but his phone number is written below it, and I’m sure I can make out all the numbers. My mind tunes out the lecture, it might as well be elevator music as I stare at this little sticky note in absolute astonishment. 

He gave me his number. He wants to get food with me. Scoop my corpse back out of the river, because holy fuck.


	2. Table Diving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Shiro meet up at the dining hall, with Matt sincerely hoping it goes better than their first meeting.  
> It doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My version of Shiro in this AU is on the anxious side, for various reasons that piece together through the story. Also, Matt talks (thinks?) to himself.  
> Quite a bit. More so in this chapter than others.

“Oh no,” I mutter under my breath, rummaging through my tiny dorm closet, “what the hell do I wear??”

I can practically feel my roommate’s sigh, and something hits the back of my head with the distinct, crinkly thwack that can only be a bag of ramen.

With a groan, I punt the ramen bag back towards him, “Lance, if you’re not going to help me, you can at least leave me alone.”

He yelps a little when the bag hits him, “Ow! Good shot… But really, dude, this isn't a date. You’re just going to the dining hall with some dude you made a fool of yourself in front of and now have a mega crush on. Just keep your hoodie, and maybe put on some tighter jeans.”

He might not be wrong with the tighter jeans part. I’ve got a nice butt. That’s gotta score me some of the points back I lost by being an awkward fool. I grab a pair of skinny jeans and start switching into them, “I know it’s not a date, but this guy is like. Illegally hot. You don’t even understand. I think he could bench press me,” I’m not even embarrassed to ramble about this Shiro guy. My roommate may be a little out there, but he’s a pretty good listener. And I trust him enough to have told him about the whole spicy meatball fiasco. Or rather, he coaxed it out of me when I got back to our dorm, flopped onto the bed, and screamed  _ “I need help” _ into my pillow. I had made plans to meet Shiro, A.K.A. the Spicy Meatball™, at the dining hall for dinner. I had texted him. He responded immediately. And, he used a cat smile emoji. Emojis are always a good sign.

After I’m finished changing, Lance comes over and inspects my hair, poking at my bangs, “Hmm. You should put your hair up. Do that little tiny ponytail, it’s cute without being over the top. Then, get out of here before you’re late.” He takes a hair tie off his wrist, flinging it at my nose. It actually hurts a bit, considering he’s less than two feet away.

After a bit of awkward juggling I catch the tie before it hits the ground, and pull my hair back, “you’re the worst, and the best. Thanks, man.” I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. This isn’t a date, I tell myself, you barely know this guy. You barely know this guy, you’ve somehow indentured yourself to him, and now you’re just eating food with him. That’s all. Just making friends. I grab my keys, heading for the door, “see ya later, dude.”

“Oh hey, one last thing!” Lance yells when I’m half out the door, “if you call him a spicy meatball again, don’t forget the ‘Mama Mia’ part!”

I whip the door shut. I take back everything nice I said about my roommate.

It’s not a long walk to the dining hall, but it feels like forever. I’m nervous. I’m actually nervous. Which isn’t like me, really. I’m a dramatic guy, but it’s not a wide range. My sister says I mostly only express two emotions:

Excitement, and Sass.

However, waking up before 9 a.m. brings on another emotion:

Tired.

And mister meatball is a great example of what brings on the fourth and final emotion:

Gay.

Long ago, the four emotions lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when the gay panic attacked.

That was a really corny line of thought, even for me. I sincerely hope my brain to mouth filter has rebooted since this morning as I walk into the dining hall and look around. No Shiro. Although, I am a few minutes early, there’s no reason to panic yet.

“Matt!” His voice calls from behind me, and I definitely did not jump when I heard it. When I turn around, he’s already close enough to clasp a hand on my shoulder, “Hey, how were classes?”

“Oh, you know,” I manage to say without stuttering, fighting so hard to keep eye contact and not stare directly down at my shoes, “made a total fool of myself to some stranger in my first lecture, but the rest of the day ran smooth. How about you?”

He flashes that damn perfect smile at me, “I have to say, you were the highlight of my day. Thanks for meeting me here, by the way,” the smile falters a bit, “I’m a transfer student, so I don’t really know anyone yet.”

“Where did you transfer from?” I ask as we make our way further into the hall. I can already smell the beautiful disaster that is large-batch college food. I can only pray they don’t have meatballs.

“A university in Japan, actually. I wanted to study overseas, but… Well, it was pretty hard making friends when my Japanese was child-like and a decade rusty, and my only family stayed here.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke, no longer meeting my gaze. Was this guy actually shy? No way. No one that attractive can be shy, right? It isn’t until he glances back at me that I realize how long I’d been silent for.

“Oh, sorry. I space out a lot.” Oh great. I just implied I wasn't listening to him, so I quickly tack on, “Japan though, that’s pretty cool.”

He shrugs, seemingly unfazed, and grabs two plates from a rack as we reach the food, “I mean yeah, but it was pretty lonely.” He hands me one of the plates, and for the first time I notice his right hand.

It isn’t, like, a flesh hand. It’s definitely 3-D printed, and definitely a prosthetic, and oh my god that’s so cool. Most of it is a smooth, silver tone, with black fingers and purple accents here and there. I don’t even take the plate from him, I just stare in silent fascination. How did I miss this before? He has long sleeves on, I wonder how much of his arm is prosthetic? I wonder if he’ll let me take a closer look-

Shiro pokes the plate into my stomach, knocking me out of my train of thought. “You okay? I guess you do space out a lot...”

“Oh yeah, I’m sorry, it’s just, your hand. I didn’t notice before,” I sputter. Real smooth, Matt. Like chunky peanut butter…

He frowns, swiftly drawing his arm away as soon as I take the plate, “It was, uh, an accident about 2 years ago. Lost my arm. Had to print a new one, you know?” He pauses to clear his throat, “I know the prosthetic throws people off. They say it doesn’t, but it does.”

There it is! That’s gotta be why he's shy. At least partly. People get spooked by the robo-hand. Arm? He did say arm. I pause to think for a moment; it must have been pretty difficult going to college in a new country, not having a perfect grasp on the language, and then having to deal with people staring. Oh no. Staring like I was just doing. Like I currently am doing. I know better than this, what am I doing?

My eyes open wide, and I start stammering again, “no, shit, fuck, I’m not freaked out. I’m sorry, I’m a biomed major, this stuff is like. My obsession.” Oh my god. I actually face-palm with my free hand when the word ‘obsession’ leaves my mouth. It's a painful smack that I can already tell will echo through my memory, making surprise cameos in my line of thought when I'm trying to sleep at night. I’m on a roll today. A free roll down a rocky hill into a landfill of trash, which is conveniently where I belong.

I peek through my fingers at him, and the corners of his mouth are twisted up ever so slightly, and he looks like he’s going to laugh again. Well, at least he doesn’t look as anxious. “I have an idea,” he says after a shaky breath, “let’s get some food, and then sit down and re-introduce ourselves, because this is a train wreck. But, you’re really funny, and I’m hoping you don’t run away.”

I nod like a freaking bobble-head, “yes. Please. Let’s do that,” I quickly scan the food nearby us, and my fears are realized. “Please don’t get any meatballs,” I whisper.

He actually  _ cackles _ . And still takes a meatball.

We fill our plates in a surprisingly comfortable silence, and find a small booth table next to the glass windowed wall in the back of the eating area. The view isn’t particularly great, there's a rather muddy looking field, and some average looking woods past it. Not exactly scenic.

I stare down at my food, poking at a mac and cheese noodle with my fork. “So,” I start, unsure of where I’m going. Re-do, right? This is it. “Starting over. First impressions. I’ll go first.” I fix my hair, stupidly unsubtle, checking my reflection in the window next to me, “My name’s Matt Holt, I’m a biomedical engineering major, second year. What’s your name?” I stick my hand out to shake his, and give him my signature lopsided grin, which I promise is more charming than it sounds. No, really. You should have seen me in high school, I was the heartthrob of the robotics club.

Shiro reaches his left arm across the table, holding his hand out, “I’m Shiro Shirogane.” I can see the exact second he processes what he just said, a flash of fear goes across his face, his smile dropping, “no, oh my god. That’s not my name. Takashi Shirogane. Shiro for short. I’m an aerospace mechanical engineering major,” he stares at my outstretched hand, inches away from his own. “I held out the wrong hand,” he whispers, more to himself than to me.

Oh, mister meatball, how the tables have turned. I bend my arm awkwardly, turning my hand so I can still shake his, “rocket science, that’s pretty bold for a guy who can’t remember his own name.”

His cheeks flush, and he doesn’t let go of my poor, twisted arm, “alright, listen, you said you’d do anything for me, you’re my friend now. Be nice.” 

Friend? Man. This guy really must be bad at making friends if he’s committed to being buddies with me, who I am sure he internally knows as the meatball boy. I shrug, “alright, I’ll behave, but ya gotta give my arm back. I’m hungry, and nowhere near ambidextrous,” I turn my body a bit to take the strain off my arm, “also not as flexible as I’d like to think.”

“Oh!” He startles and releases his grip, his hand immediately going to the back of his neck again, “sorry about that.” He looks down at his plate, and of course the first thing he skewers with his fork is the goddamn meatball, “so, biomedical? What got you into that?”

Oh yeah. There’s the question I always look forward to. Hi, I’m Matt Holt, and I am an absolute drama queen. Welcome to the show.

“What got me into biomed? I am so glad you asked,” I scoot myself as far back into my booth seat as I can get, and swing my leg up onto the table with a clang, and clearly I just scared the absolute shit out of Shiro. Again. Man, this guy is going to need to be a lot less jumpy if he wants to be friends, I’m too theatrical for the skittish. I roll up my left pant leg as best as I can, to show off my prosthetic leg. Boy, is this thing fucking fluorescent orange and blinding. I know I have the dumbest, most massive grin on my face when I look back up at him and say “THIS is what got me into- oh no.”

He’s choking on his meatball.

“Fuck, fuck, stop choking, hold on!” I scramble to get my leg off the table to help him, and of course my pants are caught in a way that I can’t really bend my knee, so I do the next smartest thing in this situation. I clamber up onto the table and grab Shiro’s shoulders, “hey! Do you need the fucking Heimlich??”

He gives me that look of dazed shock that can only be caused by your new meatball bro slamming his neon leg on the table, then climbing across it to scream in your face. He ducks his head down and coughs a good few more times. Oh god. He’s actually choking. I’m about to kill the sexiest man alive. Our first and our last encounter will be meatball themed.

I slip back off the table and try to pull him up out of his seat, hooking my arms under his. How the fuck does the Heimlich work? I’m not ready for this. Goodbye new friend, it was nice knowing you. God, he’s heavy as I try to haul him out of the booth. I don’t pull him to his feet so much as I just drag him out by the underarms, and he’s suddenly dead weight in my arms. I nearly fall over, and oh my fucking god he’s dead. I must be saying all of this out loud, there’s no way my filter can hold the sheer flood of panic that’s spewing forth from my-

He’s laughing. I look down at him in absolute shock, and he’s still coughing a little, but he’s laughing just as hard as he did this morning. Clearly, he’s fucking fine. And here I am, a humble twig beneath this beef tree, and he’s just boneless in my arms laughing.

I scoff at him, “I should drop you, I can’t believe this! I dive across a table to save your life and you weren’t even dying? I’m gonna drop your beefy ass on the ground, you hear me?”

He’s in hysterics, and most all the tables near us have been staring for a while now. I’m never going to live this day down, that becomes rather clear with how many phones are being pointed at us. Shiro frees himself from my weak noodle arms and collapses back into his booth. “Beefy?” he squeaks, his voice high pitched and forced out between laughs, “oh my god, I can’t believe you. I’m so sorry, I was just coughing in shock, and then you dive across the table!”

I slink back into my own booth and let my head drop to the table, my plate clattering next to me, “Hey, you know that conveyor belt on the way out of here?” I ask, “the one where you put your dirty dishes? Yeah can you just plop me down on there because I’m ready to go down the garbage disposal with the rest of the trash.”

“I think you’re the weirdest person I’ve ever met,” he says, and when I peek through my bangs he’s got his chin rested on top of his folded arms on the table, rather close to me and still giggly, “and I like your highlighter orange leg.”

“You’re pretty desperate for friends, aren’t you, man?” That sounds much meaner when it leaves my mouth.

He just shrugs, “I don’t think I’ve laughed as hard as I have today in two years, so, I like you.” 

_ “I like you,”  _ he said. It plays on repeat in my head as I stare at him. His cheeks are still tinted pink, and I swear he’s batting his eyelashes at me. He definitely has mascara on, and it’s not as dramatic as the eyeliner, but damn are his eyes gorgeous. They’re so dark, and gray, with flecks of different shades. Like a rough cut of steel, before you polish it, you know? A little jagged, but still beautiful. Man, and do I want to fluff those bangs hanging right above his eyes.

Apparently, he likes my bangs too, because he reaches out and ruffles them, melting my heart. “Hello,” he says, “Earth to Matt? You look like you’re a little lost in space here again.”

I lift my head back up off the table, but not without an exaggerated sigh, “I like you too, but,” I stab a few macaroni noodles onto my fork, and wave it threateningly towards him, “I won’t hesitate to kill you if you spill the beans about this morning’s meatball fiasco. Or my table diving fiasco from a few minutes ago. Or the fiasco I will inevitably make the next time I see you, Got it?”

He raises his hands in mock surrender, “your fiascoes are safe with me, but I can’t speak for the entire room of witnesses.”

Oh, right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does Shiro even want to hang out with this boy who is an absolute disaster?  
> Because Matt is adorable, and Shiro needs to laugh more.


	3. What Could Pasta-bly Go Wrong?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a few weeks without incident, Matt decides he's going to teach Shiro how to cook something, leading to a short-lived adventure of pasta, pining, and possible disaster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a bit of time skipping to keep in line with the events I have planned - but I think Matt dwells enough on the details to fill you in.  
> This is actually the longest chapter so far- and I had to cut it back a bit from being ridiculously longer than the others.

Dinner was productive. After the table dive, of course. I found out that Shiro has a little brother, Keith, and they share an apartment off-campus. Shiro still eats on campus, because he’s a hot mess in the kitchen. His prosthetic goes up just above the elbow, but he didn’t want to go into details about his accident. I can respect that. I usually make up stories about my leg. Examples: sharkbite, chopped off by a rogue lumberjack, lost it fighting a bear, cliff diving accident, slowly turning myself into a cyborg, all of me is like that but the mad scientist who made me ran out of skin, etcetera. In actuality, it was a birth defect, but that doesn’t get as many looks of shock.

But back to Shiro; he’s way too nice. He’s clearly a little skittish, and turns out he's extremely no-nonsense with his school work, but patient with everything else. Patient enough to put up with my fiascoes. Which, by the way, are not happening again. We’ve had several more dinners, and all have gone smoothly. Our only shared class has gone smoothly as well, other than Shiro’s insistence that I stop mixing energy drinks and coffee.

I thought he was going to lose it the day I took out a 6 pack of 5 hour energy drinks. After a 10 minute argument later that day, I conceded that drinking all 6 of them at once would probably have killed me, but I would have died for the sake of science.

Today, I’m taking him to a grocery store, and going back to his apartment to teach him how to make spaghetti. With meatballs, upon his insistence.

You know, maybe he isn’t very nice. He’s a little sassy. But, I like him. I like him a lot. I like him too much. I might be in trouble.

I look over to my roommate, laying on his bed across the room from me doing the same. He’s got a cup of noodles, and it looks like he’s winding up to throw. That’s fair, I have been talking about Shiro for a long time. I get my hands in a defensive position, “Lance, please, no noodles. I’ll stop!”

He lowers the cup, “You know, your sister does the same thing? I had her over to help me with my new laptop, and she talked about this pretty exchange student for like an hour. An hour!” His voice cracks as he throws his hands in the air, “she didn’t even know her name!” His arms flop back down onto the bed with a soft thud, “you Holts need to learn how to ask someone on a date, because your so called _‘flirting’_ gets you nowhere.”

“First of all, how dare you, there were videos of me cradling Shiro in my arms the day we met,” I chose to ignore Lance’s quiet snort and continue, “secondly, I’m going to his place tonight. To make spaghetti.”

“Don’t forget the meatballs,” he’s trying not to laugh, “and don't make them too... _ Spicy.” _

I give him the most threatening glare I can manage, but he only replies with finger guns.

“I hate you,” I tell him, and he only shrugs. He knows. He’s a year younger than me, the same age as my sister. We met through her, and honestly he’s my favorite of her friends. Hence why I have tried to steal him. That, and I would have done anything to get rid of my roommate from last year. Some long haired pretty boy with more issues than a magazine rack. Really attractive, but really high maintenance. Lance is a little messy, and rather noisy, but much better company.

“You know,” he says with a smirk plastered on his face, “meatball man’s little brother is probably going to be there. It’s super not a date.”

I roll over and groan into my pillow, “I didn’t think about his brother…” Here’s hoping that won’t be a problem.

Eventually, Lance leaves for the day, off to do who knows what, and I scramble up to get ready without him here to judge. I look myself over in the mirror. Am I dressed okay? Sweaters are cute, right? A brown turtleneck? Tight jeans? That's fine. Do I tie my hair up again? Yeah, I might as well. Deep breath, Matt. Don’t make a fool of yourself today.

My phone buzzes faintly, and I throw a few rejected outfits onto the floor before I find it, “Hello?”

“Hey! Matt!” its Shiro, of course, “I’m almost to your dorm. Try not to fall down the stairs or something on your way down, alright?”

I hurriedly snatch up my wallet and keys, making my way to the elevator, “like I would tempt fate by ever taking stairs, I’ll be right down.”

“Don’t you only live on the second floor?” He asks, his voice just dripping with judgement.

“Listen, not everyone can be fit and in shape like you, Hercules,” I tell him. I leave out any quips regarding the difficulty of a prosthetic leg down stairs.

I faintly hear him snort, and whisper “Hercules?” with amusement.

“I’m sorry, would you prefer I call you Thor, God of Thunder?” I lean against the elevator wall, ignoring the look the girl in here gives me.

“I mean, I just work out, I don’t think I have any thunder powers.”

“You’ve got thunder thighs, though.” Oh no. I just said that. The girl in the elevator with me covers her mouth with her hand, probably laughing. Well, so much for not saying anything stupid today. 

“I have thunder thighs?”

“Oh my god, Shiro, you could crush a watermelon with those things. I’m on my way out now.” I pocket my phone, and try to will away the heat in my cheeks. Why do I say things? As soon as the elevator doors open I can see Shiro in front of my building, and I’m nearly positive he’s inspecting his legs in the reflection of the front windows. What a dork. He doesn’t seem to notice when I walk out the door, “hey, muscle man, stop checking yourself out. We have grocery shopping to do.”

He grins sheepishly at me as we start walking, “you know, you’ve got an awful lot of nicknames for me.”

“Yeah,” I shove my hands into my pockets and shrug, “I sorta do that to everyone. And no one gives me names back! Can you believe it?"

He nudges me in the ribs with his elbow, “I’ll think of one for you, alright? Now, lead the way.”

It's only a 20 minute walk to the nearest grocery store, but it goes by pretty quickly. I give Shiro a quick rundown of what ingredients we’re going to need, during which his eyes glaze over like I’m spewing out high level physics equations. Actually, he’d understand the equations much better than my explanation of why there is definitely a difference between basil and oregano, and no you cannot just use rosemary because it’s the only spice you know. I think I talk about spices for 15 of the 20 minutes we’re walking. I should stop talking about spices. I ask him what spices he already has.

He looks nervous, and hesitates answering as we’re now walking into the store, “I… I have salt. And, uh, does hot sauce count?”

I stop in my tracks to gape in disbelief, “Oh, honey. We have work to do.” This might be harder than I thought. I drag him by his sleeve to the shopping carts, but it doesn’t really go well when he stands still, “come on, I am not capable of pulling your weight.”

He looks me in the eyes, with the same smile my sister gives me when she has a dumb idea. “Let's use one of the little car shopping carts.”

“I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself, but your arms are the size of my thighs. You can’t fit in that little black race-cart.” I inspect the one he points to. It's got a booth-like seat right in between the handle and the cart itself. Shiro definitely can’t fit, and oh no. He’s still smiling at me. “You want me to get in the car, don’t you?” I ask.

He shrugs, “you’ll definitely fit. I would even lift you in, and then push you around.”

“I have barely known you long enough to get up to this level of bullshit bad plans, Shiro. I didn’t get stuck in a baby swing at the park with my roommate until we had known each other for two whole months.” I consider it for another moment. On one hand, this is a bad idea. On the other hand, I live for bad ideas. Plus, if something goes horribly wrong, this time it’s Shiro’s fault.

He gives me a playful punch on the arm, which hurts more than it should, “look, I’ve been told I need to loosen up, have fun, and be silly for once. You’re sorta the only person I know that I want to do that with.”

That explains why he’s still putting up with me. I guess I am quite the experience, and I can’t say no to those eyes. “Alright,” I concede, “everything from this point on is officially your fault. Put me in that little race-cart.” I put my arms out a bit, expecting him to grab me by the underarms to lift me.

He doesn’t. He walks to my side, and in one swift motion, he sweeps my legs out from under me with his left arm, and catches my back with his right.

I may or may not make a noise that could be considered half way between a scream and a squeak.

This is bridal style. He picked me up  _ bridal style. _ If I were still on my feet, I might swoon.

But just as soon as he picked me up, he plops me down into the booth-seat of the racecar cart, so that my back is facing the handles and my legs dangle over the little plastic wheel and into the cart itself. I may not be super tall, but no way are my legs fitting in the little gap where they’re supposed to go. However, the booth is rather deep, so to have my legs hanging over I’m just about bent in half. I lean back, and the top of my head hits Shiro’s abdomen, which is unsurprisingly solid. “Well, I definitely think we’ve got the silly part down.”

He still looks cute from upside-down, leaning over me and smiling, “you know, I was almost hoping you’d get stuck. You’re not exactly a child.”

I place a hand on my chest, making a shocked ‘o’ face, “How rude, I am a child at heart! Be a good parent and push your son around the store!”

He snickers a bit and pushes the cart inside, “alright, but I don’t know if I’m ready for you to start calling me Daddy.”

Oh my  _ god _ . My mouth hangs open a bit, and I can feel the redness crawling from my neck up to my ears as I just stare blankly up at him. I think I’m trying to say words. It’s not working well. At least he’s blushing, too.

Shiro looks away, directing his eyes up to the signs above the store aisles, “so, we need noodles. Right? Non-ramen noodles. I don’t remember what kind of noodles.”

“Spaaagheeettiii,” I drag out the word a bit mockingly, which he deserves for not remembering.

He squints at the signs, clearly focusing hard, “What aisle is spaghetti in?”

“Come on, Starshine. You’re gonna be a rocket scientist. You can find the pasta aisle.”

“Starshine…” He repeats softly, heading towards the right aisle. He seems to do that every time I call him a new name. “I like that one.”

“Really?” I shrug, “I’m a fan of beefcake.”

He gives me a puzzled look, “You’ve never called me beefcake.”

“Not to your face, no.” Well. Those were words I would take back if I could. Nothing like telling a cute boy you’ve called him beefcake  _ behind his back. _

Of course, he laughs, his shoulders hunching forward with the force of it, and oh no. His face is so close to mine. I could reach up just a few inches and bump noses. I could lean my head back a little more and  _ Spiderman kiss him.  _ My heart stops. The panic switch activates. I can feel my sweat. My mind screams. In the distance, sirens.

He says something that my mind doesn’t process, and then waits for my response. Oh no. Oh no. I do nothing. I stare back up at him, with what I am sure is the most dazed, gay expression. What did he say?

He waves a hand in front of my eyes, “Matt. Please. I can’t be left to my own devices. Pick a pasta for me.”

Pasta. Right. I mentally slap myself, and look at the shelf. Why is it such a high shelf? I hate high shelves. I always make Katie climb them. I scan the options, “we want the one on top there.”

Shiro snorts, “What, am I going to throw you? Pick a lower one.”

“No. The top box.” Mama didn’t raise a quitter. Nor did she raise someone who settles when it comes to spaghetti. Even if it is boxed spaghetti.

“How are we going to get that box?”

I struggle to wiggle my ass out of this booth seat, and squat in the basket part of the cart, “okay, hold the cart steady, I’ll jump.” That'll work, right? As soon as I try to stand up, his arms wrap around my waist and pull me away.

“Nope!” He yelps, “not doing that, come on.” he plops me down on the floor, but keeps his arms around me.

Oh god. I’m definitely gonna swoon this time. There is no blood left in anywhere but my face.

He doesn’t notice, thankfully, and he just eyes the pasta shelf, “Alright, if you’re so stubborn, one of us is going to have to climb.”

No. Stop it, Matt. Don’t say you’ll climb Shiro like a tree.  _ Don’t _ .

Deep breath in. Exhale. Okay. I tilt my head back to face him, “I can climb you.” I scream internally _. “ _ THE SHELF. I can climb the shelf. Spot me, okay?” I quickly (reluctantly) free myself from his arms, and rush to the shelf. I’ve done this a hundred times. Well, rather, Katie has done this a hundred times while I spotted her. She isn’t that much lighter than me, though.

Shiro chuckles, and moves to stand directly behind me. So close. “I’ll catch you if you fall, okay?” He says it right in my ear, and I hope he doesn’t notice the little shiver that goes through me.

“Catch the shelf first, got it? No use catching me if we get crushed,” I say, and he nods. I start hauling myself up the shelves, “move to the side so I don't fall  _ on _ you if I fall.”

“Or, don’t fall,” he suggests with a little smirk.

I get to the top and grab the right box, tossing it down to the cart, “got it! See? That went fine!” as soon as the words leave my mouth I can feel the shelf leaning.

Oh no.

Ooooh fuck  _ me. _

Several boxes fall off the top shelf, and I can see Shiro scramble to keep the shelf upright. He calls out my name, and the sudden jolt of him moving the shelf makes me lose my grip and fall. Thankfully, I land in the cart.

Unfortunately, that hurt like hell. I land in the stupid tiny car seat, with a shower of at least two dozen pasta boxes on and around me. I don't know if you've ever knocked down two dozen boxes of spaghetti, but let me tell you. It is not a quiet sound.

Shiro rushes to my side, clearly worried, “Matt, are you alright?!”

People are starting to crowd the ends of the aisle, unsurprisingly. It did just sound like a bag of marbles spilling on a tin roof in a thunderstorm over here. An announcement about a clean-up in our aisle sounds over the loudspeaker.

“Oh my god, Shiro, we have to get out of here. We have to run.” I try to get myself up, and oh fuck that hurts. I look down, and my leg is definitely jostled out of place. That’s not runable on, even if I get my butt out of this little plastic car, which I do not have the leverage to do right now, “Shiro. Shiro, I’m stuck. Oh my god, don’t leave me.” I look at him with eyes full of nothing but sheer panic. He wouldn’t leave me, would he?

He’s staring at my leg, which is at an angle it should very much not be at. On the far side of the aisle, a store security woman is coming towards us. “You can’t run,” Shiro says, very matter-of-factly.

“Shiro, please-” before I can finish my plea, he scoops me up into his arms, bridal style again, taking extra care to make sure my leg comes with the rest of me. I yelp in pain, and he murmurs a few frantic apologies to me before he starts to run. He pushes right past the crowd of onlookers, and right out the front of the store. I cling to him, grasping onto his shoulders and burying my face into his chest, which is completely unnecessary, but this may very well be his last straw with me and I am damn well going to make the most of it.

I should be more embarrassed than I am. I just knocked over half a pasta shelf, got my ass stuck in a shopping cart, and nearly lost my leg, but honestly that’s just how my month has been going.

It helps that my brain has entirely short-circuited, and can only focus on the muscular pecs I have firmly planted my face upon. Shiro picked me up. He is running with me. He is fucking strong? I should probably say something, instead of just trying to smell his cologne. After we’re far away from the store, he slows down, and veers off the sidewalk. He leans against a large tree by the path, sliding down to sit in the grass. With me still in his arms. Well, now arms and lap. He leans his head back against the bark, panting lightly. “We can never go back there,” he breathes.

I’m hyper aware of the way his chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, “no. No we cannot.”

We sit there for a few moments in silence. My mind reboots, and the shame starts kicking in. God, how do I even thank him? He just hauled my ass out of a grocery store after I caused my second full-blown, it-might-be-on-YouTube scene this month. How do you even begin to apologize for causing someone so much trouble? A hand brushes the hair from my eyes, and I look up to find his face inches from mine.

“Hey, are you alright? You fell pretty hard,” he asks, his voice soft and low. Suddenly, I am goop. I am nothing but a puddle of emotions. A pile of mush with a hammering heart. I have too many feelings and he is going to be the death of me. I still manage to nod, and he sighs in relief, “good, I was worried. I’m going to carry you back to my place, then we’re ordering pizza, alright?” I nod again, and finally his worried expression cracks into a smile, “you know. I don’t think I’ll ever be bored when you’re around.”

I wink at him, “well, if there’s one thing I can do right, it’s entertain. Matthew Holt, drama queen and scene starter extraordinaire, at your service!”

He laughs, and I can feel the rumble of it from where I’m laying against him. I couldn’t tell you why this beautiful man keeps spending time with me, but we sit under that tree for at least half an hour, joking together about how stupid we’ve been today. While there’s no way I can pass off the shame of wrecking a pasta shelf, Shiro agrees to take the blame for the shopping cart.

And, true to his word, he carries me the rest of the way to his place, much to his little brother's amusement when we get there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I've had this chapter typed up for a while, but I wanted to make sure I got most of the way through the next chapter before posting this one. Had to make sure poor Matt's pining enough, you know?  
> And thank you for any and all lovely comments!


	4. A Hollow(een) Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt has to find the perfect matching Halloween costumes.  
> Success is debatable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, I know Halloween is spelled wrong in the chapter title, but damn is it too good of a pun for me to just not use.

It’s been weeks since the grocery store incident. We’re into the school year full-swing now, but Shiro and I still find time for each other. We get dinner together nearly every day, and so far, there have been no further incidents. Have I said some foolish things? Yes. Yes I have. But, he doesn’t seem to mind.

In fact, I think he likes it. I’ve gotten to know his little brother, Keith, a bit more. According to him, Shiro’s normally a fairly serious guy. Keith seemed actually floored the first time I got Shiro into a laughing fit in front of him. I take that as a good sign.

And let me tell you, I need some good signs, because I am head over heels for this man, and I have next to no clue what he thinks of me.

Halloween is almost here, and my roommate, my sister, and a few of their friends are throwing a party off-campus. As a theatrical sci-fi dork, I fucking love Halloween. Currently, I’m talking poor Shiro’s ear off about the party.

He and I are at our usual table in the dining hall. The view outside is a little prettier with the Autumn leaves, but it’s still just some shitty woods and a mud pit. Which is fine, its not like I ever look at the view. My eyes are glued to Shiro as I’m giving him a rather long-winded explanation of my different costume ideas, and damn do I have a lot of them.

He laughs, and holds a hand up for me to pause, “Matt, you really need to narrow the list, you have three days. You cannot make yourself a fully functioning Iron Man suit in that time frame.”

I kick his leg from under the table, “I have two weeks until actual Halloween though!” How dare he doubt me? I wave one of my french fries at him,” what about you, what are you going to be? And if you say the Winter Soldier, I’m going to be your Captain America. No buts.”

“I’m not going to be Bucky, I’ve got the wrong arm. But,” suddenly, his smile turns shy, “I wouldn’t say no to matching costumes with you. We should go to the party together.”

I blink a few times in quick succession. Oh. Oh this changes everything. Oh no. Is he asking me on a date? Is he asking to go as just friends? Oh god. Oh my god how do I ask? How do I speak? I open my mouth to respond.

No noise comes out. I am useless. I am just staring at him in silent shock.

Shiro waves his hand in front of my eyes, “dude, what do you think about so hard when you get like this?”

“Mostly you,” I say before I can think to stop myself. Okay. THOSE words can come out just fine and dandy. Thanks, Matt.

It’s times like these where I mentally run through the schematics for a prosthetic leg specially designed for kicking my own ass. So far, it’s in the first stages of prototyping.

Thankfully, Shiro seems to find it more amusing than creepy, and raises an eyebrow, “anything you’d like to share?”

I can’t seem to swallow the lump in my throat, and shake my head ‘no.’

He reaches across the table, and takes my hand into his own, “Seriously, though...Matt,” he stares down at our hands, and I can see a faint pink across his cheeks, “do you want to go to the party together? Like. Together together. As a date.”

“As a  _ date?”  _ My voice is embarrassingly high, the last word might as well have been a squeak. Shiro’s asking me on a date?

He wants to go on a date. To a party. As a _couple._ With _matching_ _costumes_.

I’m gonna swoon. Oh my god. I’m going to fall out of this booth, and pass out on the floor. I am not prepared for this.

Total systems failure. There is no thought, no comprehension, no sense of awareness. Somewhere in my mind, the panic alarm is blaring. Somewhere else, elevator music.

I have no idea how much time passes with me in this state.

Shiro’s head softly thuds against the table, “Matt, please, you’re killing me. Please just say no and we can pretend I never asked.” He doesn’t let go of my hand.

“No!” I shout, finally coming to my senses, and I see his shoulders stiffen. “Wait, no, yes! Wait, Shiro, please. My brain is melting. I want to date you. So much, you have no idea. Oh my god, I sound like an idiot, fuck me.” Oh no, that was not a good expletive to use there. Way to go, Matt.

His tension eases away, and he peeks back up at me with an entirely scarlet face, “we should just start with the date…”

I nod rapidly, sliding our plates to the side. I have to practically lay across the table to reach him, but I do it anyways and wrap my arms around his shoulders. Shiro doesn’t seem to question it as he hugs me back, but then again it's not like I havent dove across this very table before to get to him.

I can feel the stares of a few nearby tables, likely a few that remember my first rodeo here, but I can’t find it in me to care. I’m more concerned about my heart pounding so fast it might burst through my ribcage. Can I kiss him? No, we haven’t even been on a date yet… Right? Was this dinner a date? Was anything a date? No, stop. Kiss him at the party. The party that is 3 days away. I’m going to die.

“Hey,” his voice snaps me back into focus. I have no idea how long I’ve been laying across the table for. It's best not to think about it. He pulls back from the hug enough to look me in the eyes, and boy is mister Spicy Meatball’s face marinara red, “it’s getting late. Can I walk you home?”

“Yes. Please. You’re blushing,” I point out the obvious, “so much. Oh my god.”

He looks away, voice dropping to a whisper, “I was nervous, alright? I…I didn’t know if you’d say yes.”

I close the gap between us, pulling him forward and burying my face in the crook of his neck, “you’re so cute, I’m gonna die.”

“Please don’t…”

He stays fairly quiet the rest of the night. Which is fine, I do more than enough talking for the both of us.

I hold his hand the entire walk. If he tried to let go, I was too busy to notice. Busy going on endlessly about how much I liked him, because for some reason he needed the reassurance. Are you kidding? Listen, I rate myself as a solid seven and three-quarters. A full eight if you’re into guys with prosthetics. But, next to Shiro? I’m a three on a good day. The man is smart, sweet, got the body to be mister July in a hunks of the year calendar, and he needs reassurance that I want to date him? Unbelievable. You think he would have gotten the hint after the third, yes third, time I visibly drooled over him stretching. Or, maybe the fourth time, when his shirt rode up a little and I actually fanned myself with my notebook. I didn’t even try to hide it! And have we just  _ forgotten _ the spicy meatball incident? I tell him all of this, of course, because you should know by now that I can’t keep my mouth shut. 

It’s probably for the best that we reach my dorm so quickly, but I still sigh dramatically, “I wasn’t done gushing about you yet…”

Shiro laughs, and steps a little closer to me. So close. Oh, he’s  _ very _ close, only an inch away, and he places a hand on my cheek.

_ He’s going to kiss me. _

I close my eyes, holding my breath, afraid I’ll hyperventilate if I don’t. My heart stops. Time stops. Fuck, everything stops. My brain blue screens. This is happening. He’s actually going to kiss me.

He-

He pecks me on the cheek.

“Good night, sunshine,” he murmurs before heading back down the hall, leaving me leaning against my door in pure shock.

_ “Sunshine? _ ” I squeak, to no one in particular as I’m frozen in place. I let myself slide down the door, and sit in a puddle of my limbs and melted heart.

I’m in so much trouble.

I don’t stop thinking about it. I barely sleep. Sunshine. He called me Sunshine, and I am losing my goddamn mind. He didn’t even properly kiss me! How am I so swept off my feet by this?

Oh no. This isn’t fair.

I have swooned over him for weeks, I have gushed over his every move, and he’s only gotten beet-red once. Once! That’s gonna change. I need to get even. I need to make  _ him _ swoon. I’m going to make him drool.

When I come back from classes the next day, Lance is already back, and apparently has friends over. By friends, I mean my nerd of a little sister, Katie, and our floor’s R.A., Hunk.

I ruffle Katie's hair as I walk by them, “oh hey, thought I took out the trash this morning, but here you are!”

She snorts, swatting at my hand, “you say that every time I’m here, at least come up with some new material.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I pull a chair over to where they’re sitting, crowded around Lance’s laptop. If I had to guess, they’re making last minute party plans. “Listen. I need help.”

Lance smirks at me, “are you having boyfriend trouble already?”

I sag down in the chair, feeling quite called out, “not trouble, no, I just need a costume idea! I told Shiro I’d get back to him, and I’ve got nothing.”

Hunk gasps, putting his hands on his cheeks, “oh man, you guys are going to wear matching costumes for Halloween, aren't you! That's adorable.”

Katie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, “matching costumes? You dorks. Be Captain America and Bucky, though. For sure.”

“Nah,” I wave my hand at the idea, “he said he won’t be Bucky. Wrong arm. Besides, I want something hot. I want Shiro to gawk at me.”

I ignore the gagging noise Katie makes as she puts her headphones on, no longer wanting to be part of this conversation. That’s fair.

Hunk raises an eyebrow at me, “a sexy couples costume?”

I nod, “yeah, but here's the thing. I want to be the sexy one. If he’s too attractive, I’m going to just be ogling him like usual.”

“Ooh, that’s a tough one,” he says, and rests his head in his palm, thinking. “Maybe a doctor and a nurse?”

“Nah, I’m super attracted to guys in lab coats. And scrubs. I can’t even watch Scrubs the show. Zach Braff is really-” before I finish my sentence, Katie clamps a hand over my mouth.

“I’m gonna leave the room,” she says, shaking her head in dismay as she gathers up her things, “please never finish that sentence.”

After she leaves, Lance claps his hands loudly, “I GOT it! Be a cheerleader. Like, full on mini-skirt and crop top cheerleader. And he can just be a football player!”

Oh. Oh that could  _ work.  _ I put both of my hands on Lance’s shoulders, “Lance, you are a genius, and you are the best.”

He beams, giving me a single finger gun, “you’re damn right I am.”

I pause, thinking for a moment. “Okay. But. Do I shave my legs for this?”

They both stay silent for a bit, before Hunk shrugs, “I mean. Maybe up to where the skirt is going to end.”

Lance smirks, clearly about to say something scandalous. “Or, shave up as far as you want Shiro to get.”

I would say something snarky, but he’s not wrong.

I stop out to grab the costumes that night, much to Lance’s surprise. He insisted I had more than enough time before I needed to get costumes. How last minute is he? Regardless, I text Shiro a picture of his.

‘ _ a football player? And what are you going to be’  _ he sends back.

I debate telling him, or sending him a picture of a quite possible  _ too  _ short, black and fluorescent orange pleated skirt. Or, sending a picture of my pom poms, because you bet your ass I got some pom poms. I settle on sending him:

_ ‘A surprise :)’ _

Oh, this better work. It has to.

\--

I look myself over in the mirror. The top to this costume is honestly little more than a long-sleeved sports bra that reads ‘SPOOKY’ across the chest, which is fine. Team Spirit probably would have been a better, punnier Halloween themed sports team than team Spooky, but the stupidity of it adds charm. The skirt… the skirt has me second guessing this.

It’ll get a few stares alright. It sits rather low on my hips, and covers what it needs to, but little more than that… At the very least, it’s almost the same neon orange as my leg. A little too dark, but close enough.

A take a few deep breaths. I’m not embarrassed about the cross-dressing, I’ve done it before, just never something this.. risque.

Oh god. This is really ridiculous, isn’t it? It didn't even occur to me until now, staring at my desperate ass with a mini skirt and pom poms that this has got to be the thirstiest stunt I have ever pulled.

Oh no.

I can’t do this. What was I thinking?!

Abort mission. Control+alt+delete. End task.

There’s a knock on my door, and son of a bitch I know it’s Shiro. Oh no. It’s too late to back out of this. I suck in a huge breath of air, letting it out slowly in a weak attempt to calm myself. Too late now, gotta commit. How do I even open the door? Do I strike a pose? Do I act normal? Fuck, what even is my normal? It's not  _ normal, _ that's for sure. He knocks again. Why don't I think things through? Who let me do this? I have to wing it. I grab my pom poms, and whip open the door.

“Surprise,” I whisper shakily, shaking the pom poms for some sort of pathetic emphasis.

Shiro stands perfectly still, hand still in position to knock again. He’s wearing his costume, an honestly generic football uniform with the same color scheme as my costume, a big 13 on the chest, and ‘SPOOKY’ written across the back. He even put a bit of face paint on, a little orange stripe below his right eye and a black one below the left. Nice touch.

His eyes immediately go down to the skirt, nowhere near subtle, and his face flushes so dark I’m almost worried. In fact, I am worried. I am very worried. This was too far.

His mouth opens to say something, but no sound comes out.

“Hey, champ, you alright?” I ask, bending down a bit to try and catch his gaze.

He shakes his head ever so slightly before his eyes finally meet mine. He still hasn’t lowered his knocking hand. Oh god. I actually broke him. He's in shock. I’ve never seen him blush this badly. I don’t think I have ever even blushed this badly? No, no, that’s probably not true. In fact, I’m probably rivaling that blush right now.

I broke him. I don’t even think he counts as my boyfriend yet and I fucking broke him. Goodbye, my hot, muscular sweetheart. It was nice daydreaming about you.

Shiro snaps out of his daze, jolting a little before blinking rapidly. He takes another step forward, closing most of the gap between us and oh my god. He grabs my waist. Both hands. On my bare waist.

“Matt,” he says, so close, I can feel his breath on my face, “can I kiss you?”

Oh, here it goes. The part where my entire world grinds to a halt, and I think I might faint. Or worse, say something incredibly stupid. Oh god, I cannot say something stupid right now.

So instead, I grab his face, pull him down that last few inches and smash our lips together.

There is nothing graceful about it. Our noses smush together, and neither of us even have our eyes closed at first. But, after a few seconds of rapid blinking, Shiro keeps his eyes closed and tilts his head to the side. He actively kisses me instead of just pressing our faces together, and I am so beyond thankful I have one leg that can’t turn into jello because the flesh one has betrayed me and my knee is threatening to buckle.

I let my hands slide down to rest on his shoulders, clutching a little too hard to make sure I don't fall over. I might actually fall over. This is a real concern right now.

He pulls away, breaking our kiss but keeping his lips just a hair away from mine. Which is probably for the best, I’ve been holding my breath so long I might suffocate. I’m still holding my breath. I’m getting light-headed. Oh god.

I gasp loudly, my brain finally remembering how the fuck breathing works, and Shiro jumps.

“Sorry,” I blurt out, “I forgot how to breathe. I’m okay now.” Less okay after admitting that.

Anything solid within me turns to goop when he smiles, so wide the corners of his eyes crinkle. “I hope you won’t forget everytime we kiss.”

Oh no, two can play at this game now. “Hope you won’t freeze up like a gorgeous marble statue every time you see my legs,” I whisper, and he looks away, flushed to the tips of his ears.

“You… you look great. Better than great,” he lets out a huff of air, “I’m sorry for staring.”

“I mean, getting you to stare was sorta the point of this costume.” My face officially hurts from smiling, but I’m just going to have to suffer, “want to head to the party, stud muffin?”

He nods, sliding his arm around my waist, “Can I keep my arm around you?” He presses a light, sweet kiss to my cheek as we start walking, “just in case anyone gawks at you as hard as I did.”

Oh. Oh he’s the  _ jealous _ type. Noted, and saved for later.

The party is outdoors, in a park just outside campus. From what I’ve heard, it’s going to be pretty decked out with decorations. But, most importantly, it will be stocked with candy. There may or may not be alcohol, but unless we’re talking gummy bears soaked in vodka, I couldn’t care less. I’m going for the candy.

Oh, and the date part. Shiro's arm snug around my waist as we walk is a constant reminder that yes, this is a date. I can’t do anything stupid.

But oh man, is there so much opportunity for stupid. Where do I even begin? This is like the choose your own adventure of my nightmares. Choose Your Own Disaster: Matt Holt’s Party Edition.

Adventure One: I trip. I could very easily trip, and my skirt goes up. You know how little my underwear covers to not be visible right now? There is nothing left to the imagination. Nothing.

Adventure Two: I snag my skirt on something, and straight up just lose it. Just, lose the skirt. It’s not even that unlikely.

Adventure Three: I find vodka soaked gummy bears, and get fucking smashed on them without even noticing how increasingly drunk I'm getting. Who knows what I would do? Last time I got drunk at a party, I woke up with $14 in the ass pocket of my shorts with three different phone numbers written on the bills. We still don’t know why. One of the phone numbers wasn’t even a person, it was an Arby’s two states over.

I could go on, but thinking about everything that could go wrong is nauseating.

Shiro seems to notice my discomfort, which is significantly worse now that we’re close enough to hear the music and chatter of the party.

“Hey,” he squeezes me a little closer, “you don’t have to be so nervous. I’ll make sure you don’t do something dumb, alright?”

I lay my head on his shoulder, “thanks, starshine.”

“No problem, sunshine.” There it is again. Sunshine. I couldn’t care less how he came up with it, I’ve decided it's officially the cutest pet name in the history of pet names, and I love it. Between hearing it again, and seeing the dimpled grin on Shiro’s face, I get the last little boost of confidence I need. I’m so focused on his face, I don’t notice anything is wrong until that smile falls.

“Shiro? What’s wrong?”

He looks at me for a long, unblinking moment before speaking. “Matt. There’s a lot of people here.”

I quirk an eyebrow up at him, “yeah, it’s a party, what’s the big deal?”

“You might want to see what they’re wearing,” he whispers, his face blanching.

I look around, and oh my god.

Choose Your Own Disaster, Adventure Four (The True Ending):

I show up to a very crowded party with a mini skirt, crop top, and pom poms. It now makes sense why Lance thought I was early with the costume. It occurs to me, that no one ever actually said if this was a costume party.

It is not a costume party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the time span of this chapter isn't awkward. I wanted to keep the events of the 5+1 as a somewhat cohesive story, even if it is just snippets of their relationship.  
> Thanks again for reading <3 We're getting towards the end!


	5. The Hot One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt has Shiro over for movie night, A.K.A. make out night, with the hopes of getting a little further than kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally not explicit at all. Barely mature, but I'm adding a mature rating to be safe.  
> I've felt the pain of underrated fic removal, a long time ago, in a fandom far far away.

Tonight is movie night. Also known as Saturday, the night Lance spends not in our dorm, so I can have Shiro over and we can make out without being disturbed by anyone. 

I shove a little tupperware dish into the lounge microwave, and smack the 8 button a few times. Who actually enters time in the microwave? If you actually punch in something like two minutes and thirty seconds, you’re a fool. You pick a number, you whack it a few times, and then you take out the food when it feels right. Especially popcorn. You don’t microwave popcorn for a set time! You microwave it until it’s done popping. That time changes per bag, and I’ll fight anyone about this. I’ve already fought people about this, and I have won. Plus, who the fuck knows how long to cook this microwave lasagna for? I just find these things on the internet. Dorm cooking is limited, and Shiro eats almost anything, so I’m going to wing it.

We used to have ramen on movie nights, until the night Shiro ate the raw noodles straight out of the bag, then proceeded to make what he had the audacity to call “tea” with the flavor packet.

Ramen is no longer allowed on movie night. Ramen is no longer allowed in general. Ramen has been cancelled indefinitely, due to gross misuse.

Outside of that incident, movie night has been great. Fantastic, even. Mostly.

Alright, it’s been stressful.

Shiro and I have been dating for over three months, and we’ve been doing movie night since week two. Every week it’s just kissing, fully clothed. To be fair, it’s pajamas, but it’s still fully clothed. He hasn’t even touched my butt!

Am I doing something wrong? I have to be doing something wrong. Does he get freaked out when I take my leg off? Are my pajamas just unattractive enough to make him not want to go further? I look down at myself, and my pajamas are definitely cute. Who isn’t charmed by fuzzy black pajama pants with little pumpkins all over them? And tonight, I sort of stole Shiro’s pajama shirt right out of his bag as he went to the bathroom to change.

Pickpocket: 100.

Then when he asked through the door if he left his shirt out there, I put it on and ran to the lounge.

Speech: 1.

The shirt hangs off my shoulder, and honestly looks like a short little dress on me. I guess that happens when you’re barely scraping medium and your boyfriend is a beefcake and a half.

Okay, so maybe nothing about me screams sexually attractive right now, but I’m still adorable. A solid 8.5 twink. That’s right, 8.5, I’ve had a confidence boost. So why doesn’t Shiro want to do anything more than kiss? How do I throw myself at someone in a non-desperate way?

A knock on the doorframe of the lounge startles me, my whole train of thought going out the window.

Shiro’s leaning against the door frame, _shirtless._ **_Shirtless._** My knee is weak. He smirks at me, “I see you took my shirt.”

I nod, my mouth suddenly very dry, my eyes glued to him. Oh my god. I mean, I’ve seen glimpses here and there. A quick peak when he’s changing shirts, when he stretches, or that time I spilled a whole can of soup on him and his shirt just clung to him so perfectly. But this is so different. This isn’t a quick glance, nor is it covered in low quality chicken souped fabric.

He is standing in front of me, shirtless and absolutely sculpted.

I need a glass of water. A very tall glass of water that I can swim in because my entire body temperature just rose at least 40 degrees and I am actually sweating. Here I am whining about not doing more than kissing this man, and I can’t even handle seeing his abs?

I clutch onto the shirt, holding it to myself, “holy fuck,” I whisper, “you can never have this back.”

“That’s okay,” he says “you look cute with it.” He grabs me by my hips and lifts me onto the counter, and oh god do several thoughts of where we could go with this cross my mind.

“You look really hot without it,” I mumble, placing my palms on his chest. He’s so warm and  _ solid _ . And smooth? I bet he waxes it. He seems the type. Don’t let his shy modest act fool you, I’ve seen how long it takes him to do that eyeliner, he’s a closet diva.

My eyes trace down further than I’d dare to let my fingers go without asking, to the neatly-trimmed trail of hair leading from his belly button down to his waistband. Why is he so neat and put together? Goodbye newfound confidence, I’m bumping myself back down to an 8.

He plants a kiss on my neck, right below my ear, “hey, are you okay with this? I don’t want to-”

I cut him off with an ugly snort, “you’re kidding, right? I’m okay with this. So okay. Please, feel free to take off more.” Well that didn’t sound desperate.

His laughter is little puffs of air on the underside of my jaw, “I’m just making sure you’re comfortable, I don’t want to rush anything.”

Rush?  _ Rush?  _ I would have let him bend me over a desk week two. How do you say that to someone in a non-embarrassing way? If you’re me, you don’t. So instead, I just bury my face in his hair while he continues to tickle my neck with little kisses, “Lance is gone, right? Carry me back.”

“So bossy,” he says, lips brushing against my skin, “don’t make me take my shirt back.” He tries to back up, but I hook my leg around his hips and hold him in place.

“Carry me like this,” I tell him, knowing full well that my face is too flushed to make a confident demand, but fuck it.

He sighs dramatically, and grips me by my upper thighs to lift me up against him, “you’re awfully needy tonight,” he teases.

I grab onto his shoulders to support some of my own weight, but oh my god does he have an iron grip on my thighs. His real hand might leave some bruises, but he can _ actually _ carry me like this. He brings me back to my dorm, opening the door awkwardly with his elbow and kicking it shut.

He faces the door, staring at it for a moment in silence. “I gotta lock it,” he mumbles.

“It’ll be fine, just keep carrying me.”

“Nah, I need to lock it,” he insists. With another sigh, he holds me against the door, leaning into me so he can flick the lock closed and oh my _god_.

He has me pressed against the door, my legs spread around his hips, and I don’t know that I’m blushing anymore because my blood is rushing down so fast I feel lightheaded.

I gasp involuntarily. It’s hard to breathe, and it’s impossible to focus on anything but the muscles pressed against my chest and the fingers digging into my thigh. I really need that glass of water. In the form of a shower. A freezing cold shower because it just now occurs to me that Shiro is pressed against me and I am a little more than turned on right now. This might be a problem.

I feel his shoulders tense, and he eases away from me, “did I squish you?”

Is he oblivious? Oh my god. He’s oblivious. I grab his face, leaning my forehead against his, “kiss me.”

He stares, blinking a few times, “don’t you want to go somewhere more comfortable?”

Are you serious? He’s killing me. I tighten my legs around his hips, “Shiro, I want you to hold me against the wall and kiss me like you mean it.”

He presses back into me, hands moving just an inch further up my thighs. I can see the exact moment it clicks with him, and his cheeks darken, “do you want to do a little more than kiss today?” he breathes the words right over my lips. Oh god.

I stammer out a “yes please,” the door creaking as he pushes harder against me. 

His hands leaves my thighs, moving to grip at my oversized shirt, “exactly how far do you want to take this?” he asks, lifting the fabric over my head and tossing it to the floor. His hands come back to rest on my hips, fingertips dipping just below the waistband of my pants to keep in contact with my skin.

“Yeah,” I answer, pulling his face back in for a kiss. I don’t care how far it gets, my mind is absolutely melted, and I want as much skin contact as possible.

He breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh, “that’s not an answer. Come on, babe.”

_ Babe _ ? Babe. That’s the second name he’s ever called me, and he barely uses the first one. Oh god. That’s it, the final bit that overloads my brain. My head thunks back against the door, “for fuck’s sake, less clothes, more kissing, more of anything, really.”

His lips are on the underside of my jaw, his hands tugging at my pants, is it hot in here? It’s at least 100 degrees in here. Celsius. Past my melting point.

“Let me know if you want to stop. I gotta put you down to get your pants off, alright?” I can feel the words more than hear them, heat fanning out across my neck.

My few still functioning brain cells tell me to nod, yes, that does make sense. It’s somewhat a blur how I get my feet back on the ground again, but I at least have the sense to kick my pants away when they pool down around my ankles. Come on, Matt, focus here. Don't miss this.

Shiro’s at my chest, leaving open mouthed kisses in a line down my sternum, down my midsection, until he’s on his knees. His hands force my thighs a bit further apart and press me back against the door.

He is  _ on his knees _ in front of me. Oh god, the gears are grinding so hard in my head I can practically smell smoke.

No, no, I am literally smelling smoke. Is this normal? No, Matt, stop being stupid. What, other than me, is burning?

Shiro pauses to look up at me, his chin resting against my stomach. He must have noticed it too, “I hate to kill a mood, but-” we both cringe when a screeching wail cuts off his words. 

The fire alarm.

When I look up, there’s already smoke curling in from the crack at the top of the door.

Oh my god. OH my god. Who is the idiot that set off the fire alarm? Who is the absolute fuzz mucker, the complete jackass?

After a brief moment of processing, Shiro springs into action, while I lean stupidly against the door cursing my luck. A fire alarm.

He shoves a shirt, his shirt, over my head, and tugs my arm around his shoulders. Despite a rather loud and embarrassing squeak of protest from me, he scoops up my legs to get me in a fireman’s carry. As soon as he opens the door, smoke pours in. I can’t even see where we’re going, but Shiro manages to find the stairs and carry me down them, into the freezing cold outside.

It’s snowing, and here we are half naked, no shoes, and I’m still half-hard in my boxer briefs. This is the cockblock of nightmares.

Shiro sets me back on my feet, but as soon as my foot hits the grounds I jerk it back up with a shriek, nearly toppling over, “holy FUCK it’s cold.”

He nods, already shivering a bit as he steadies me, “sorry, I should have grabbed a blanket, I panicked.” He pulls me in close again, half carrying and half dragging me to the nearest bench, then sitting me across his lap and curling around me, “now we’re gonna have to cuddle for warmth.”

I hide my face into his neck, draping as much of myself over his exposed chest as I can, “You are an entire wheel of cheese…”

“You're not wrong.” He pokes at my cheek until I face him, and then he pushes his nose against mine, “I don’t think I said it out loud earlier, but you’re beautiful.”

“You’re gonna kill me, Kashi,” I groan, almost grateful for the warmth my face is bringing. I smack my head against Shiro’s shoulder, “throw me back into the fire, because I’m already burning up. Cause of death: drowned in sap,” I continue whining, and his shoulders shake with laughter. He clutches me closer to him, and I’m so damn smitten. Beyond smitten, really. Lovestruck is a word.

A soft blanket is draped over us, and thank the fucking stars because I feel like I have an inch of snow on me already.

“Why would you come outside with no clothes on! I’m watching you two, no PDA,” I hear Hunk’s voice say. God bless this man.

Shiro tucks the blanket around us, half covering my head with it, “Thanks, Hunk. Do you know what was smoking so bad?”

“Yeah, someone set the microwave on fire. On floor 2! My floor!” Hunk sighs, his shoulders slumping, “man, I’m supposed to make sure this kind of stuff doesn’t happen, but who’s the genius who set our microwave on fire?”

Oh.

Oh no.

Oh my god.

The lasagna.

It was  _ me. _

I make a noise that sounds like someone punched me in the gut, and damn did the truth punch me right in the fucking gut.

“I cockblocked myself with a microwave lasagna,” I say outloud. Why would I say that outloud?

Hunk stares dejectedly at me, “Matt. You did this?”

I glance up at Shiro, expecting him to give me a similarly crushed look.

Instead, he buries his face in my hair, and starts absolutely cackling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SHATT GOSSIP TIME!  
> So, I've had this chapter typed up for a few days now. The final chapter is nearly finished, with somewhat of a surprise bonus.  
> However, today is the day of the Shadam/Adashi thing. Which has pulled my heart in so many directions, but I am so here for queer Shiro. To y'all who aren't abandoning the Shatt Ship for good, thank you for sticking around <3 I have a lot of fic ideas, several actually started for once this was done, and I hope there will still be some lovely people to share it with!


	6. Put Some Ice On It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Shiro have been together for a few years now; and it's time to get a little more serious.  
> Like a Christmas Eve proposal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll notice something a bit different about this chapter. Other than the time difference.

I've been dating my boyfriend for 3 years now, we're both in our final year of college.

Honestly? We've been fantastic through it all, but this last year has been our biggest test.

Being engineering majors, we both had to do two semester's worth of co-op, working in our fields. Spring semester of last year, and the Fall semester that just finished we've spent long-distance, an 8 hour drive apart from each other.

But, we pulled through, and finished up a few days ago. I haven't seen him face to face in two months now, and you better believe I've been counting down the days.

We have just one more semester of classes, one more semester and we're graduated.

I never thought I was ready to grow up, and be a real adult, not until recently. I can tell you the exact day it hit me.

I was walking to work on a breezy morning, face timing with the lovable dork I can't believe I met in a 7 am lecture hall. He was still in bed, his hair a tousled mess as he gloated about sleeping in while I trudged on.

It was the first time I had talked to him on my walk, and something about being with him when I passed a noisy elementary school clicked with me. Before I could stop myself, I had said:

"You know, this is exactly the kind of place I want to raise our family in."

We were both dumbstruck.

We had never really talked about it before. Getting married we had only ever joked about, and adopting kids? Never once had it come up. I held my breath until he responded:

“Yeah. Yeah, me too. Let’s do it.”

That night, we gushed about it for ages. Face timing in our pajamas, losing hours of sleep to plan it all out. The rest of our lives. A stupid cookie cutter house in a good school district with four kids, two cats, and a ferret. And my husband, my ray of sunshine.

I want all of it, and so does he.

So today, I'm going to ask Matt to marry me.

It has to me that proposes, I know Matt would be terrified to do it. Given his... History, it's understandable.

But, he's also the theatrical one of us that would have all the ideas. Do you know how hard it is to come up with a dramatic proposal that isn't miles out of my comfort zone? And it has to be fool-proof. I can't let Matt... well... there isn't a nice way to put this.

I don't want Matt to embarrass himself. Don't take this wrong, I have nothing but love for him, and never have I been upset or angry with him when he does something silly or causes a scene. Here's what I'm worried about:

Do you have any idea how distraught he was when he thought he ruined our first date? He was beyond devastated for days, and no matter how much I continue to reassure him that the night was perfect, he's still not over it. If I propose to him, and he thinks he ruined it, it's going to crush him. The last thing I want to do is break his heart, it would kill me.

I have planned out every detail for this. I have all of our friends in on it, each one of them has a job, and Matt has no idea. At least, I hope he doesn't. Surprise is important for this, he overthinks things he knows about ahead of time. The scale of overthinking varies, and as cute as it is to watch him ramble for 10 minutes about what to wear to dinner, I'd rather not risk maxing the scale and sending him into a full-blown anxiety attack.

The proposal itself is rather simple. Matt is going ice skating with all of our friends tonight, and he thinks I'm not flying back until tomorrow morning. Lying about that was the hardest part of this so far. We’ve gone skating on Christmas Eve the last two years, and he was admittedly a little heartbroken when I told him I wouldn’t make it this year. Hopefully it makes it up to him when I surprise him on the ice, and while he’s still in the dazed shock of seeing me, I’m going to get down on one knee.

Everyone has agreed to help. Matt and Lance still live together, so it's Lance’s job to make sure Matt is dressed and ready alright. He’s gotta be dressed warm, not wearing something he’s going to trip over, not stressing over how he looks.

Keith is picking them up to drive them, and he’s in charge of getting them both to the rink, on time, without getting lost.

Hunk is in charge of crowd control at the rink, to make sure we're sectioned off when I pop the question, and no one is going to run into us.

Katie is in charge of recording it, and I have given her explicit permission to take control of the security cameras if she has to. She was… a little too excited about that part. I find it best not to dwell on it.

As for myself, I took skating lessons to keep me busy while we were apart, and it's going to be my job to make sure he stays on his feet. Or, at least be there to catch him when he does fall. Neither of us were particularly great the last times we went skating, but I’ve gotten considerably better.

I need this to be perfect for him.

I’m counting minutes now until I see him. We face timed every night before bed, and sometimes in the mornings while getting ready or walking to work. A few times, we kept earpieces in and stayed in a call the whole day. But, phones are no substitute for actually seeing each other.

I miss watching him space out, get lost in thought and just stare into nothing with the brightest eyes. Then, he’ll suddenly come to and either be absolutely red and stammering, or scrambling over everything in his way to come tell me some fantastic idea.

I miss how he throws his hands around when he talks. I'm not sure he even notices he does it, there's times he'll be holding my hand and still gesture wildly, pulling my arm with him. The very first time we held hands, walking back to his dorm after I asked him on a date, I was petrified he would hit himself in the face. He was oblivious to it.

I think most of all, I miss the way he'll take special care to thread his fingers through my prosthetic ones the times he holds that hand. I can't actually feel it, of course, but I can feel the sentiment. It means more than I could ever communicate.

I’m absolutely in love with him.

I fiddle with the ring box in my pocket, unable to keep still in my seat. He’ll love the ring, I know that much. It’s definitely flashy enough for him, but I know how much of a nerd he is. The inside of the band has “I choose you” engraved in Elvish script.

Is it original? No.

Will he physically melt to the ground and likely cry? Yes.

Just one more hour on this flight, and another two hours after that until I see him.

I know we’re going to end up having a huge wedding, Matt has too much family for a small one. I know Keith is going to be my best man, but Lance and Katie are going to fight to the death over who’s going to be Matt’s. I spend the rest of the plane ride daydreaming. I spend the ride back home doing the same.

Actually, I can’t stop thinking about it even if I wanted to. I’m starting to get a bit nervous. I’m wearing Matt’s favorite shirt of mine, even if the black button up feels a size too small. I fix my hair somewhere around a dozen times, and spend at least a full 15 minutes making sure my eyeliner is even. I re-straighten my bow tie, and yes, I have to wear a bow tie. Matt loves bow ties, especially this silly maroon one with little snowflakes all over it that I can’t stand.

I place my hands on the wall on either side of the mirror, staring at my reflection.

“Come on, Shiro. You can do this. You’ve been through shit a lot harder than proposing,” I say aloud to myself. It's only mildly reassuring.

I know Matt’s going to say yes. He’s going to say yes, we’ll kiss, and then either ice skate for a bit, or head back to my car in a secluded parking spot. Knowing Matt, the latter is more likely. Then, tomorrow, we spend Christmas together as fiances with Matt’s family.

Perfect, everything will be perfect.

That’s been my mantra for the months I’ve been trying to plan this.

I leave for the ice rink early. It’s an outdoor one, down city, next to a massive Christmas tree. It’s absolutely beautiful, and shouldn’t be too crowded on Christmas Eve.

Yes, as I get there, I’m right. There’s only a good handful of people on the ice. It actually looks like a couple families are leaving. Perfect timing.

I keep my coat on, a large baggy one with the hood pulled up. It should be enough to hide my identity until I get close to him. Now, I wait.

And wait.

I should not have gotten here this early.

I can hardly keep my eyes off my watch, and when I do look away, it’s to the entrance of the rink. Any minute, now.

Yes! He’s here. I’m pretty far away, and he’s definitely wearing a Santa hat, but I’d recognize that reddish brown mop of hair anywhere.

I stay on the far side of the rink, waiting for him to get on the ice and skate around a bit.

Instead, he skates directly to the edge of the rink closest to the Christmas tree, and stays leaned against the barrier. What is he doing?

Katie and Hunk stay near to him, but Lance and Keith start skating around the rink. When Keith comes near me, I lightly grab onto his arm, “hey, Keith, what’s going on?”

Keith startles before he realizes it’s me, “fuck, don’t do that.” He glances back towards Matt, “he’s pretty upset you’re not here. It took a lot of convincing for him to come.”

“Yeah,” Lance confirms, “had to practically drag him. I don’t think he’s going to skate around much. You’re going to have to go over there.”

My chest aches, I didn't think he'd be that upset, “how bad is it? Oh my gosh, did I screw this up already?”

“No, no, no,” Lance waves his hands, “you’re going through with this. You made him upset, now go fix it. I’ll give Hunk and Katie the signal.”

Before I can protest, he skates away, leaving me with Keith. He clasps a hand on my shoulder. “Shiro,” he looks down, like he’s thinking hard on his words before meeting my eyes. “Don’t fuck this up.”

I pull him in for a quick hug, ignoring his scowl when I ruffle his hair, “thanks, little bro. I won’t.”

Focus, deep breath. In, hold, and out. I can do this.

A flash of fear courses through me, quickly passing when I check my pocket and confirm that I did not forget the ring. No, I didn’t forget anything. I make my way around the rink, seeing that Katie is in position with her camera, Hunk is nearby and ready. I skate up to the barrier, a few feet to the side of Matt, making sure my face is hidden well enough by my hood.

He’s spaced out, completely, staring up at the massive pine tree. His hair is in disarray beneath the hat, silken strands sticking out every which way. At least a thousand twinkling lights reflect on his eyes, rainbows shining in pools of honey. His cheeks are just slightly pink from the cold, covered in a scattering of freckles and snowflakes. A few more flakes cling to his lashes, and as he blinks them away I pray the droplet siding down his cheek is a melted flake and not a tear.

My heart hammers in my chest seeing him again, seeing him like this. He’s nothing short of beautiful. If I didn’t have a plan, I’d kiss him right now. I’d tangle my hands in his soft locks, press our foreheads together, and tell him how much I love him, how much I’ve missed him. I could tell him a thousand times, in every language I can speak, but there’s no words I know that could get so much as a fraction of it across. Asking to spend the rest of our lives together is the closest I’ll get. I have to do this.

I scoot a little closer to him, until our arms nearly touch. Nothing.

“Hey,” I nudge him a little, hoping my voice doesn’t give me away too quickly. He notices, and blinks his daze away.

“Oh, hello,” he says unsurely, only giving me a quick glance, “sorry, not to be rude, but I’m not really in the mood to talk…”

I lower the hood of my coat, then take it off entirely and drape it over the barrier, “not even to me?”

“Kashi?” He squeaks out, his whole face brightening, “but you, you were supposed to get here tomorrow, you…” he trails off, staring with watery eyes.

I take both of his hands in mine, and lead him away from the edge of the ice, “you think I would miss our tradition?”

He lets me lead him across the rink, stammering a bit of nonsense. He’s still too shocked to think straight, and I can’t quite decipher his sentences until he asks, “why didn’t you tell me you were coming early?”

There. The perfect opening.

“It was a surprise. And, so is this.” I bring us to a halt, right in the center of the ice, letting go of his hand to fish the ring box out of my pocket.

He brings his free hand up to his head, grabbing at his hair, “oh my god. Oh my god, Shiro.” He’s grinning from ear to ear, dimples on full display.

This has to be perfect. I spent hours finding the right words, and it’s easy to remember them, “Matt, ever since I met you, all I’ve wanted is to be with you. Every time you left, I counted down the hours to when I could see you again,” my voice cracks towards the end of my sentence, but Matt only laughs, a few tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. Beautiful. I have to look away for a second, my stomach full of butterflies fluttering as fast as my heart, “being apart from you for so long has been… well, one of the hardest things I’ve had to go through. But I know now, more than ever, that I never want to stop being with you. Every time you leave my arms, I want to count down the minutes until I can kiss you again, for the rest of my life.”

“Damn it, you’re making me cry,” he half giggles, half sniffles as he wipes at his eyes with a gloved hand.

I can’t stop staring at him, our eyes locked as I go to get down on one knee, and then everything goes black.

\----------------

**_Matt_ **

\----------------

You know where I am right now?

A hospital. I’m in a hospital. Sitting next to Shiro, who is knocked the fuck out in a hospital bed.

In a _hospital_.

I brush his bangs out of his face, cringing at the large bruise forming on his forehead, and the big bandage on his nose. He shifts around a little, groaning uncomfortably.

“You finally waking up, starshine?” I whisper, not wanting to startle him.

He cracks open an eye, closing it immediately with a tiny whine, “too bright…” His hand gropes around in my direction.

I hold onto it with both of my hands, “how you feeling?”

“Awful,” he grumbles, “where are we? Smells too clean to be your place...”

He’s not wrong, but I’m still somewhat offended. He’s damn lucky he’s cute when he’s half asleep. “Well,” I tell him, “we’re in a hospital. You have a concussion. And a pretty bad cut...”

He lolls his head to face me, “but we were skating…” his eyes shoot open wide, and he sits up startled, “I proposed, oh god, what happened?” He must immediately regret the action, gripping his head and grunting in pain.

“Whoa there,” I push his shoulders lightly back down to the bed, “calm down hotcakes, I can explain.”

Can I, though? Can I really explain?

It’s terrible. I can’t believe it actually happened. I can’t believe it was _recorded_ , on multiple cameras, from multiple angles. It’s already on youtube.

Years, for fucking years, I have made an absolute fool of myself in front of this man. Oh, how the tables have tabled. “Well," I start, determined to keep a straight face, "you lead me around the ice rink for a little while. Then you stopped, took out a ring, and started proposing to me.”

He nods anxiously, waiting for me to continue.

“Everything you said was beautiful. It was really cute and sappy and I absolutely love it, and then,” I gulp, partially hesitant to tell him but also trying not to laugh, “you went to get down on one knee, and you sorta… slipped? You smacked into the ice head first. And cut your nose on my skate. And passed out.” Even if it was my skate, it was definitely not my fault. I didn’t move an inch. I did, however, laugh my ass off. Until he didn't get up, and I noticed the blood. Then, then I cried. He’s alright now, though, which makes it okay to laugh. Right? Right. “It’s sorta all over YouTube if you want to see. Total train wreck.”

Shiro stares at me wide-eyed, “Oh no. Oh no, Matt, I’m so sorry. I ruined everything.” he cradles his face with his hands, “I can’t believe this. You have every right to hate me right now.”

I pull his hands away, “oh my god, I don’t hate you.” Hate? Is he kidding? I have pulled shit like this all the time. Since the beginning! I nearly burned down a building trying to get to 3rd base! It’s about damn time Shiro fucked something up.

He leans his head back, eyes clenched shut and eyebrows furrowed, "I'm so sorry, I wanted everything to be perfect, and I-"

I make a quiet shushing noise, and cover his mouth, "Takashi, honey, darling, my sun and stars, moon of my life," his lip quivers, and I place my hands on either side of his face, "since I met you, not a single fucking thing in my life has been perfect. This? Was a disaster. And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

"You...What?" His eyes blink open, watery and threatening to spill.

Oh no, if he cries, I'm gonna cry.

“You heard me,” I tell him, “I loved it, and I love you," who am I kidding, I'm already tearing up as I speak, "I'm playing the video at our wedding, probably after I trip head first into the cake. And, I’m already wearing the ring!” I wave my hand in front of his face to show it off, “so no take-backs.”

He lets out a quiet sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob, "You're not upset?"

"No, you idiot," I press our lips together, and brush away the few tears that travel down his cheeks, "I'm in love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro's P.O.V. was hell, guys. Matt is easy, Matt is a memeing gay disaster and honestly same. Now, it's time to finally close the 40 page google doc titled "A SPicy Meatball" that was never meant to be shared, but was thrust into the arms of the internet nonetheless. Thank you all SO MUCH for sticking with me through my first fic in years! All of your kudos and comments mean so much to me <3 I've been working on a new Shatt fic I plan to call Drops of Sunshine, which may or may not have been heavily inspired by the bomb drop that was Adam, hopefully I'll have the first chapter up soon!


End file.
